Twined Unknowns
by daymarket
Summary: Persophone is pregnant, and the birth of the coming children brings up many questions for Hades, fate, and the gods themselves. As a strange prophecy is made, the powers of witchcraft and divine power are intertwined.
1. Eileithya's News

'**m so sucky and irresponsible. There are two barely-started fics in the pipeline and here I am, starting a new fic. Um, okay, review if you like. I'll give you cookies if you do!**

1.

Hades was not a god that shocked easily; eternity as lord of the underworld prepared you for a multitude of things, most of them rather unpleasant. But still, this was beyond anything he'd ever imagined.

"You're sure?" he whispered, a strange look of shock on his normally expressionless face.

Persephone, his queen and wife, glared at him fiercely. "Of course I'm sure," she snarled darkly. "I've been sure for—oh…" her words trailed off as she doubled over. Hades held her gently, waiting until the spasms passed. "Thank you. Cousin Eileithya told me." Eileithya was the goddess of childbirth. "And she says the baby will be—_owwwwwwww—_"

Hades stood up, feeling dazed. "This is—Persephone, this is amazing. It's just—"

"It doesn't _feel_ amazing," she grumbled. "I'm really not too sure if the baby even has human form. Even now it kicks like a rabid centaur."

Hades bent down again, a smile brushing the edges of his mouth. "Does your mother know?"

Persephone cast him a scornful look. "Oh, yes," she said dryly. "Of course she knows. That's why she hasn't been down here to visit you, her favorite brother…"

Hades's smile widened as he nodded. "Very well, I take that as a no." The smile disappeared as his brow wrinkled in thought. "Did Eileithya tell you when?"

"No," Persephone sighed. "Just 'soon', whatever 'soon' means."

Hades's cold hand slid over his wife's as he smiled. Two smiles in one day, a record. "This is wonderful," he said quietly. "There are six months, Persephone, six months when the child may be born."

She smiled up at him, smoothing his dark hair back from his forehead. "Yes," she said softly. "Six months."

Her smile became wistful, her eyes unseeing. Hades stepped back with a sigh, a trace of sorrow flitting into his own eyes. Over the years, Persephone had learned to love her distant husband, but still, there was absolutely no doubt that she loved the upper world more, with the brightness and overflowing life. _Life,_ Hades thought tiredly. _What is life, truly?_

He slipped silently out of the room, leaving Persephone's maids to attend to her. She would come out of her reverie when she felt like it. Until then, well, he had wishes of his own.

Lost deep in thought, he walked with brisk, purposeful strides, stepping nimbly down a long, winding staircase that led directly to the lowest hell, Tartarus. There were other ways to get there, of course, but he wanted the time to think today.

The great iron gates of Tartarus loomed before him. Hades hesitated slightly, then tapped the gates with his finger. They swung open for the Lord of the Underworld, slamming hastily shut behind him. He stood for a moment, observing the prisoners within before setting out towards the west.

The light there grew steadily brighter, shining oppressively. A wide lake came into view, adorned by a single tree. The unnatural tree bore many kinds of fruit—pears, pomegranates, apples, grapes, olives—and below them was a single figure trying valiantly to grasp a fruit, but each time the branches would rise out of reach, while the water below would dip away with each futile attempt to drink. "Tantalus," Hades greeted in a soft voice.

The disgraced son of Zeus looked at him with bloodshot eyes. "Lord," he said, his voice raspy with lack of use. "What brings you here?"

"Curiosity," Hades said, settling himself down comfortably on the bank, running his hands through the water—the water was only cursed for Tantalus. Hades paused, trying to figure out the best way to phrase the question. He settled on, "Did you feel joy when Pelops was born?" Pelops was Tantalus's son, whom Tantalus killed and served as a meal in an effort to fool the divine guests at his banquet. For that sin, he was committed to Tartarus for all eternity.

Tantalus stopped his fruitless groping and sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Yes," he said finally, his voice unreadable.

"Then why did you kill him?" Hades inquired.

Tantalus didn't say anything for the longest time. Finally, he said in a very quiet voice, "Because…because, well, I wished to know."

"Enough to sacrifice your only son?" Hades said skeptically.

Tantalus didn't say anything, shaking his head angrily. "You don't understand," he snapped. "You're a god, you know everything. There—" he stopped, then continued with an effort. "I just—curiosity."

"Ah," Hades said neutrally, as though that explained everything. It didn't; he felt as confused as ever. Finally, he continued, "When your wife was pregnant, though, how did you feel?"

Tantalus hesitated. "Excited. Breathless. I was eager, but also frightened."

Hades rubbed his ear, absorbing this viewpoint. Finally he nodded. "Thank you," he said, standing to go.

"Wait!" Tantalus cried, hands turned pleadingly upwards. "Can you not help me, Lord? The hunger, the thirst, yet I am unable to quench it—"

Hades turned partially, observing the man. Pitiful, to think the wreck had once been one of his brother's favored pets. "No," he said calmly. "I can not help you."

Tantalus let out an anguished cry as he swiped his hands through the branches of the tree, struggling to reach. Hades, with a swirl of his cloak, disappeared into the distance, walking back towards the entrance of the underworld—and his pregnant wife, Persephone.


	2. Apollo's Prophecy

**Let the fun begin!**

2.

Silence descended over the city of Delphi bit by bit as the shadowy figure approached them, cloaked and hooded carefully. Folk drew away, instinctively wary of the stranger.

Hades did not mind. Actually, he took absolutely no notice of the sudden silence. He had been unable to sleep for--oh, say the past few weeks, and he wanted out. Some kind of relief, anything. Finally, Persephone, sick of his grumblings, had kicked him out of the Underworld.

"You go," she snapped, her face pale and strained. "I am sick of your tossing and turnings, and _I'm_ the one having the baby. I can handle the affairs of the underworld for a few days. Go into the sun, let it burn some of those worries from your head. Go see Athens. Pick some flowers, who knows? And don't come back until your skin's as dark as the Styx."

Hades had grimaced at the flower suggestion. "Persephone, I don't pick flowers. I'm not a nymph."

"Neither am I, but _I _do."

"Well, that's because you're a goddess. Put it this way--does Zeus pick flowers?"

"No…" she admitted reluctantly. "Well, Apollo does. Learn from him!"

"It's laurel leaves, Persephone." He had hesitated at this point, watching his wife uncertainly. "Are you sure you can manage?"

"Oh, please," Persephone snorted, waving a languid hand around. "Of course! I'll stay for a while in Elysium, work the kinks out of my system. Go, Hades, and stop fussing. Don't come back for three days at least."

So, with a sigh, he had left, emerging from the ground in a nice shady little grove, glancing uncertainly at the flowers. He had just received a three-day vacation at the least, and he had no idea what to do with it. The sun was not helping, either. What did it know about being a father?

The sun. Apollo. Oracle. It had all clicked there, and so with a vague idea in his mind, he had set off for Delphi, rather enjoying the exercise and silence. People stared, but he didn't mind. They were only mortals, and he'd see them again someday anyway. If he wished, he could make it up to them again. Emphasis on _if_.

He entered the temple, blinking at the sudden coolness. The folk inside turned, looking at the stranger. Hades ignored them completely and gazed at the temple with a little approval. _Nice work, Apollo. You've got quite a temple going._

A small girl appeared in front of him, robed in the white of the priestesses. "The Mother Oracle wishes to see you," she said in a childlike voice. Hades simply nodded, allowing the girl to lead him past the gawking crowds. They entered into a long, narrow hall and entered into a small chamber at the very end. Hades wrinkled his nose with distaste at the foul odor of various incenses. The girl bowed to a figure that was barely visible through the smoke and left. Hades waited patiently for something more to happen.

"So," the Mother Oracle said finally in a reedy voice. "The Lord of the Underworld chooses to grace us with his presence."

Hades bowed. "Merely as a supplicant," he said. "As any other, I wish for a prophecy."

The mists cleared, revealing a woman that was old beyond old. Wrinkles showed clearly in her face, masses piling upon masses until you could barely see anything. Hades watched her, passing judgement swiftly. He couldn't be entirely sure, but this woman was destined for Elysium.

"A prophecy," the woman repeated softly, humor underlying her words. "Why would you wish for a prophecy, o Lord? Do prophecies not come from gods? Why do you not ask Apollo yourself?"

Hades cocked his head, considering. "I've always found Apollo a little too…hot for my taste," he answered dryly. "Too energetic. Too…"

He was interrupted by a loud gasp from the woman as she threw her head back, screaming violently. Hades gazed at her, mildly startled. Was she dying now?

The woman's head lowered, eyes rolling madly in their sockets as a strange voice came from her mouth, most definitely not one of an old woman's. "Why, Uncle!" she said in a lively male voice. "I'm flattered. Energetic, you called me!"

"Don't let it get to your head," Hades answered.

"Ah…it's swelling already. So. What brings you to the Delphi Oracle?" The woman gave a little chuckle, very odd for a person in her condition. "The gift of prophecy is a great one, but man is it annoying! I knew you were coming, but why?"

"A prophecy, is all," Hades replied. "Must I say more?"

"Of course. This is just so crazy. Hades, the mystical, grim old god of the underworld who loathes sunlight, comes into it! Amazing! And this time you didn't even snatch a bride!"

Hades sighed. "I do not loathe sunlight, Apollo. I simply do not like it. And if I've gotten a mystical reputation, well, I do not care. Mortals can talk it out with me later in the underworld if they so wish to."

Apollo--through the woman--laughed. "Like you'd let anyone see you, Uncle Grumpy. But seriously, why are you here?"

"Just prophesize," Hades said testily.

"I could. But I'm going to nag you until I find out."

"Won't you find out anyway when you prophesize?"

"Well, I don't like to be kept in the dark. It'll come out really cryptic anyway. So. What's up? Did dear old Dad die or something?"

"Zeus is a god, and therefore he cannot die. Stop playing with such trivial theories."

"Trivial….how did this happen, from energetic to trivial?" The voice sounded hurt. "Uncle, you wound me."

"Dear, dear," Hades said, rolling his eyes. His face grew serious again as he regarded the Mother Oracle in front of him, having a seizure as Apollo controlled her voice. "Very well, then." He hesitated, frowning slightly. Finally, he said in a low voice, "Persephone is pregnant."

There was stunned pause. Then, a riot of laughter exploded from the woman in between gasps and wheezes. Hades watched, an eyebrow raised slightly in vague amusement as he watched her.

"Ah, Hades!" Apollo howled, dropping the 'Uncle'. "This is--this is--"

"I suppose I cannot convince you to keep your mouth shut?" Hades asked doubtfully.

"Of course not. I can't wait to see Demeter's face when she hears this!" Apollo laughed again. "When's it due?"

"I'm not too certain," Hades answered. "And well, seeing as it is, I'm not certain of anything now. A prophecy would do much to relieve my mind."

Apollo's voice carried an underlying tone of humor. "Well, you did keep your side of the bargain, didn't you? All right then, I'll give you a prophecy." The voice turned serious. "Are you sure, though? What's said can't be undone, and it's not like I can control it. Not for gods, anyway."

"Yes."

"Very well, then. First, though, is the old lady okay?"

Hades inspected her critically, then shook his head. "No. She's close to Death's door."

"_Your_ door, you mean." Despite the humor, Apollo's voice held genuine regret. "Pity. I did love her once when she was much younger." There was a slow pause, then Apollo picked it up cheerfully once more. "Well, then, a prophecy it is you want? Here we go!"

The woman jerked upwards, hands raised to the ceiling as rays of light shot dramatically from her body. Eyes wide, she stared directly at the Lord of the Underworld as majestic tones rolled from her lips.

_"Two._

_One to light, and one to dim._

_One to love, one to hate._

_One to be raised to the High Lord's eye,_

_The other destined for dark Hecate._

_Yet when spirits roam where they should not,_

_And the light of the sun is traded for blood,_

_You'll then find the roles are reversed,_

_As first becomes last, and last becomes first."_


	3. Demeter's Image

**This is where the fun REALLY starts. You won't believe just how long it took for me to find the perfect names, especially the name of Hecate's mother (yes, that's the actual name). And yes, the names ARE vewy important. Anyway. Enjoy. Or else. BWAHAHAHAA! –bursts out into evil laughter- **

**HAVE COOKIES, EVERYBODY! XD**

3.

Barely two hours after Hades returned to Persephone, his kingdom was graced by Demeter's glorious blaze of fury. Shoving Charon into the Styx headfirst as she stormed out of the boat, hitting Cerberus on all three heads as he tried to prevent her passing, Demeter was most definitely not in a good mood.

_"Hades!" _

Her brother heard her from halfway across the kingdom. "Your mother's here," he told Persephone unnecessarily.

"I noticed," she answered. "Go on. Eileithya can take care of me." The goddess of childbirth nodded, gripping Persephone's hand as Hades left.

Demeter's eyes snapped with fury as he entered the throne room. Storming over to him, she gripped his wrist in a tight hold. "Guess what?" she snarled darkly, her fingers tightening into his pale skin. "Apollo came to me today, and you know what he told me? My ears must not have been functioning correctly! My goodness, _Persephone is pregnant!" _

The last three words ended in a shriek. Hades snapped out of her hold gracefully and stepped back. "Well, she is my wife," he pointed out mildly.

"You—" Demeter spat, apparently so revolted by his actions that she couldn't find the words to describe it. "You—did you _rape _her?"

Hades raised an eyebrow, not replying as Demeter howled in rage, stalking around the chamber, kicking various artifacts here and there, venting her spleen and threatening various tortures for him. Hades listened carefully, not saying another word until Demeter cooled down. Whirling to face him, she snapped, "Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Very little," Hades answered serenely.

She folded her arms, glaring at him. "And where's Persephone? I suppose you've got her locked up in this hellish place you call a kingdom?"

Hades merely looked at her. Demeter turned away, golden hair spinning behind her. Hades watched it idly. _So that's where's Persephone's hair comes from. Not to mention her temper. _

Abruptly, Demeter snarled, "I want to see my daughter."

Hades nodded and beckoned her to follow him. Demeter shook her head angrily. "No, I want to see her _here!_"

"She _is _quite heavily pregnant," Hades pointed out.

Demeter struggled for awhile over this, weighing the welfare of her daughter and the joys of seeing Hades bend to her will. Finally, Persephone won. "Fine," the goddess growled, following Hades deeper into the underworld.

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One would think that Persephone was being tortured to an inch of her godly life from the sounds of distress that emitted from Demeter. "_Oh, my poor baby!"_ the harvest goddess wailed. _"Are you all right?" _

Persephone looked helplessly at Hades, then Demeter, than Eileithya, who merely shrugged and glided out of the room. Hades looked at Eileithya wistfully then back at the weeping Demeter. Resigned, he stayed. "Demeter—" he began.

"_Don't you 'Demeter' me you foul beast, you molester! How dare you!" _

"I do not molest her. It—"

Persephone cut him off with a sharp jerk of her hand, pointing to her mother's back and mouthing, _Leave!_ Abashed, Hades silenced himself and sighed, walking out of the room.

"That bad?" Eileithya said sympathetically.

Hades nodded ruefully, and Eileithya laughed tiredly. "Well, all for love," she said dryly. "It comes with the package."

Hades grimaced as they leaned back, listening to the muted sounds coming from Persephone's room. Hours passed, Eileithya left, yet Hades stayed there, silent as a stone. When Demeter finally emerged, she seemed tired and was startled to see her brother waiting. "You've been here the whole time?"

He nodded.

"Hmph." Demeter tossed back her silky hair and sighed. "Well, I suppose so," she said reluctantly.

Hades looked at her, waiting. Demeter matched him resolutely eye for eye for almost three whole minutes before looking away. "Say something, damn you! Stop being so quiet!"

"There's nothing to say," Hades said calmly. "If you are done, I can escort you back to Charon."

"No, don't bother," Demeter said, waving a hand dismissively. "I can find my way back myself." She glared at him, then suddenly dropped the rage. "When the child's born, tell me."

Hades nodded, watching Demeter's fading form as she walked off into the shadows.

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Hades had told nobody about Apollo's prophecy, and most unlike the god, Apollo had decided not to tell, either. The Lord of the Underworld paced uneasily, hearing Persephone's furious howls inside as she labored to bring the child—children out into the world. Would they be human? Which was the dark one, and which the bright? Hecate? What did Hecate have to do with any of this?

"So many questions," he murmured to himself, rubbing his arms as if he were cold.

"So many?" asked a low husky voice behind him. "Anxious, are you, for the births?"

Hades turned around, his face showing none of the surprise he felt. "Hecate," he said calmly. "Why do you say that?"

The goddess of witchcraft stood before him. Despite the fact she was nearly a handspan shorter, the witch was just as intimidating as he. "I have my ways," she said. "Apollo's not too hard to crack when you come to him in certain forms."

"Seduction?" Hades asked, putting a world of meaning into that single word.

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "Aye. Quite amusing, it was." A strange look in her eye accompanied the smile. "Dark, it called me. Dark Hecate. Well, you can't deny truth." She tilted her head, looking him straight in the eye. "Will you deny fate?"

Hades frowned slightly. "Stay away from them, Hecate, or leave my kingdom. Perhaps it will come true no matter what I try, but I don't want the prophecy coming true. It's too…"

"Threatening?" she suggested.

"Strange," Hades answered quietly.

"Ah, love," Hecate said, stretching her back. "Love does make us do odd things, does it not? Your love for Persephone came from Eros's mischief, but I sense that this goes deeper." She placed one delicate hand on Hades chest. "It comes from…within."

Hades pulled away, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "It does not concern you, Hecate. Stay away from my children."

She curtsied gracefully. "As my lord commands," she whispered, "but what if they come to me?"

With a low, ominous laugh, Hecate vanished. Hades gazed at the spot she had left, thinking. What if, indeed.

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The door swung open behind him, and Eileithya emerged, looking tired but triumphant. "Twins, Hades!" she declared jubilantly. "Twins!"

Heart beating fast, Hades entered the room. Persephone was there, face stained with sweat but shining with triumph. "Look!" she shrieked, her face lighting up at the sight of him. "Just look at them!"

He felt a strange anticipation in his heart as he looked at his children, speechless. Persephone, interpreting his silence correctly, laughed. "Oh, don't just stand there looking stunned!" She grinned. "You look so cute when you're confused. We never talked about names, did we? What do you think?"

Naming. Hades hesitated, reluctant to touch the children—they looked so _fragile_, like porcelain. Eileithya noticed his hesitance, shaking her head with a knowing condescension. "Scared?" she teased.

Hades grimaced, looking from the girl to the boy and back. Gingerly, he slid his hands under the boy first, examining him closely. The child was perfectly normal in every way, except for a strange red birthmark that trawled over most of his left arm and palm. His eyes were blue, and with his blond hair, he looked uncannily like his mother. His skin was a tan bronze color, striking in the darkness of Hades's kingdom.

Hades set him down and reached for the girl. If the boy was the image of Persephone, then she was his. Dark, serious eyes and short black hair lined her scalp, with pale skin that was a perfect contrast of her brother's. He set her down back on Persephone's lap and sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't know," he admitted. "What do you suggest?"

"Asteria for the girl," Persephone said. "It sounds so pretty."

Hades froze at the sound of the name, feeling the echo of prophecy ring through him. _Asteria_, mother of Hecate. Was it fate, or just coincidence that Persephone chose the name?

"Hades?" Persephone said slowly, watching his tense expression. "Hades, what's wrong?"

He hesitated, his eyes skipping from child to child. "Not Asteria," he said at last. He groped for a name, any name other than Asteria, any name that wouldn't bear any mark to Hecate or anybody else similarly dark. "How about…Lethe?" he burst out quickly. Fumbling to cover his mistake, he plowed on. "Lethe sounds prettier, don't you think?"

Persephone cocked her head, looking uncannily like her mother. "Lethe?"

"Yes," Hades said quickly, feeling uncomfortable. "Lethe."

Her eyes narrowed in that familiar gaze that both she and Demeter possessed in full force, staring right into Hades. Unlike Demeter's glare, though, Persephone's had much more effect when it came to intimidating the god. Very slowly, she said, "And what is wrong with Asteria, may I ask?"

"I don't like the sound," Hades said carefully, keeping his voice neutral. Persephone didn't seem convinced.

"I see," she said after a very, _very_ long moment. "Very well. Lethe."

The last word was punctuated with a stern glare that promised more later. Hades swallowed slightly, not letting a single flicker of emotion change his face. "Lethe, then," he agreed blandly. "What about the brother?"

Persephone, still frowning, looked down at the wailing boy in her lap. Smoothing down his blond hair, she sighed. "Um…Pelathon."

Hades stared. "Pelathon?" Not what he had been expecting.

Persephone shrugged, looking tired. "It's a name of a nymph I used to know. Why?"

"It doesn't sound…I don't know, very _pretty_," Hades said delicately, putting emphasis on the last word. "Are you sure?"

She glared at him. "Yes, I'm sure! I wouldn't have picked it otherwise." Her previous good mood seemed to have evaporated entirely, replaced by a sharp irritation. "What, you think I just made it up?"

"Of course not," Hades said soothingly. Carefully, he picked up Lethe. The little girl-child blinked up at him sleepily through dark, long lashes, her fists curling into his tunic. Hades hesitated, tracing the pattern of her face slowly. "Very well, Pelathon it is."

Persephone's expression softened as she watched Hades gently cradle the child. With a sigh, she sat up in bed, tugging the edge of Hades's tunic. "Don't be cross," she said softly.

"I'm not cross," Hades murmured, rocking Lethe. "Do I sound cross?"

With shaking fingers, Persephone held Pelathon close. The boy whimpered, wiggling in her hold before ceasing his wailing cries. With a tired gurgle, he fell asleep. There was a quiet moment of silence, punctuated only by the soft sighs of the twins.

"There, now," Eileithya said briskly from behind them. As one, Persephone and Hades nearly jumped, having forgotten that the childbirth goddess was there. She rolled her eyes at their guilty expressions. "Don't be mortified on my account," Eileithya advised. "You're just tired, Persephone, and every couple fights."

They stared at her. Eileithya grinned slightly. "You're catching flies. Trust me, a few hours of sleep and you'll feel like a new goddess." She patted Persephone's arm comfortingly. "Come on, I'll get your twins wrapped up and asleep."

Scooping up the children in one arm and dragging Hades with the other, Eileithya left Persephone alone in peace.


	4. Artemis's Gift

**Holy **_**crap**_**. You know, I never knew until I started doing a bit of research for this fic just how **_**complex**_** Greek mythology is. Besides the usual pantheon that every kid knows, there are so many different minor gods and goddesses and deities and this and that and it's enough to make your head spin in ten different directions at once. Whew!**

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Time passes, as it always does. When the remainder of the six months was over, Persephone returned to the outside world, bearing her two children with her. Though perhaps the word '_children'_ wasn't entirely accurate—they grew in the way of the immortals; that is, very fast.

Anticipation filled the air of Mount Olympus, as the various deities waited and wondered what these two mysterious children would look like, and what duties they would assume in the mortal world. Demeter was particularly keen to see the children; on the plains of Greece, the grain and fruits of the field flourished as never before.

Of course, there was somebody else who waited to see the children. Hecate, called dark, waited for them to come out into the light of day—and conversely, into the dark of the moonless night. Out in the world, Hades would have no command over her, and no protection over his children while their mother was asleep.

And so gods and goddesses alike, they waited.

XYXXXXXXXX

In the calm, misty air above the river Styx, a raven and a falcon circled together in a strange, complex dance. By the shore, the lost souls waiting to be ferried to the Underworld stared as the two unearthly birds skimmed over the surface of the water, sending a murky spray flying behind them.

They did not have time to stare long at the birds, for following them onto the shore was an even stranger sight—two young adolescents, a boy and a girl, who looked to be maybe sixteen or seventeen. The girl had straight black hair that fell to her waist, with pale skin and dark, serious eyes. The boy was her opposite, with tan, bronze skin and short golden hair, and had a dark red birthmark that swathed his left arm and palm.

They were unusual in the fact that they were coming _out_ of the Underworld, as opposed to going in—and also the fact that they were lit with the unmistakable glow of godhood, or immortality.

"Muninnnnnnnn! Horuuuuuuuuuuussss!"

The birds responded immediately to the cry; they wheeled around in graceful twin arcs and swooped back towards the youths. The souls shivered and wondered as they saw an unmistakable pair of gods appear from the darkness behind the unlikely duo—Hades, the god of the underworld, and his wife, Persephone.

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"You'd better not let those birds run of control when we're aboveground," Persephone warned her children, shaking her head in an exasperated manner. "It's bad enough that they run amok from Elysium to Tartarus, but above…"

"Of course we wouldn't," Pelathon said, miffed. On his shoulder, the falcon Horus shifted from talon to talon, seemingly looking down its beak as Persephone. "Besides, Mother, Horus always comes at command. You know that."

"For now," Lethe, his sister, said from beside him. She raised an eyebrow as Pelathon turned to look at her and said dryly, "You must admit, that bird does enjoy consorting with lady birds a bit too much."

"Better than Muninn," Pelathon retorted, gesturing at the raven on her arm. "All she does is eat all day."

"Children, enough," Hades said mildly. Turning to Persephone, he said, "All's ready, then?"

Persephone looked into his eyes and smiled. "Of course, my love. All's ready."

Hades inhaled deeply, then let the breath out with a small sigh. "Then you'd best go," he said, keeping his voice cool and neutral. "I will see you in six months, then."

He raised a hand, beckoning Charon. The aged boatman nodded, raising his oar in creaky hands. Pelathon and Lethe scrambled onto the boat, nearly tipping it over in their eagerness as they squabbled comfortably about the seating arrangements. Their excitement was understandable; it would be the first time that they set foot on the outside world.

Hades watched them, his eyes distant. It was just six months. They were grown now; they had and would have their own roles to play in the world. He couldn't keep them in the safety of the Underworld forever…

"We'll come back," Persephone whispered softly into his ear. "You know we will."

Hades looked down at his wife: at her glowing golden hair, the light blush in her cheeks—and the gentle love in her eyes. "I know," he said softly, allowing his own wistfulness to tinge his voice.

They shared one more kiss—a soft, tender kiss—before parting. Hades stood on the shore as he watched his wife and children fade into the distance; he waited until he could see them no more before leaving the shore and retreating deeper into his own domain, the Underworld.

XYXXXXXXX

There was a surprise waiting for them at the foot of Mount Olympus. It began with a tremendous shriek of, "PERSEPHONE!" as Demeter rushed forward, embracing her daughter in a suffocating hug. Naturally, then followed a round of hugs as the rest of the deities took turns welcoming the goddess home.

"Mother, family," Persephone said when she managed to extract herself from the round of welcome, "This is Lethe, and this is Pelathon. My children."

Hundreds of divine eyes scrutinized the twins, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. After a long pause, Demeter stepped forward, enclosing them both in a warm hug. "Welcome," she said. "Welcome home, to where you belong."

Pelathon and Lethe exchanged looks; the latter was especially unenthusiastic. On Pelathon's shoulder, Horus uttered a harsh cry. A beat later, Muninn echoed it, the sound reverbrating through the suddenly silent hall.

"Thank you," Lethe said at last, her voice soft. "We appreciate the welcome."

"Well," Dionysus roared, "I should think that anything should would be welcome after that drafty underworld, especially—" the god threw out his hands explosively, indicating the surroundings—"wine!"

Laughter erupted as the god of wine shoved goblets into the twins' hands, breaking the tension with his usual careless good cheer. The icy silence dissolved into easy chatter, with various deities coming up to alternately congratulate Persephone or give the twins' jaw-shattering congratulatory slaps across the back.

And as with most divine parties (especially with Dionysus there), the gods and goddesses inevitably got—drunk. Very drunk. Sometime around the point when Zeus started kissing Hestia (Hera watching with a decidedly stormy expression), Persephone decided it was wise to usher her children to a less intoxicated setting, where they could settle down and regain their bearings.

Behind them, two goddesses followed.

XYXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I rather liked it," Pelathon said a bit petulantly, hiccupping at random intervals. "There's nothing so fine as honey-brewed wine where _Father_ is…"

"Oh, you sodding drunk," Lethe said, sounding irritated. "You're swaying already. I suppose you want to become the patron god of wine, then?"

"No, that's—_hic_—Dionysus," Pelathon said, gesturing extravagantly. "I wouldn't dream of evicting him, especially since he's doing such a—_hic_—excellent job already—"

"I hadn't quite planned for you to get drunk on your first day here," Persephone said a bit ruefully, "but I suppose I should've expected it, with my cousin there and all…"

"Am I disturbing you?"

The twins and Persephone looked up. "Artemis," Persephone said, sounding startled. "Half-sister—what brings you here?"

Artemis smiled, looking uncharacteristically shy. The goddess glanced up at the night sky—it was a full moon, the bloom of Artemis's power. "Merely to bestow a gift upon your children," she said. "I thought it best to leave the party," she said in response to Persephone's questioning look. "Father Zeus was a bit—well—"

"The goddess he was kissing didn't look too happy," Lethe muttered.

"That was Hestia," Persephone said, looking slightly embarrassed. "As Zeus's sister, I suppose she's only used to it…still, I hope she stays a virgin. Especially after tonight."

Lethe made a face, but Pelathon was too tipsy to understand what was going on under his nose. He smiled vaguely at Artemis and made a clumsy bow, nearly toppling over, just barely stopped by Lethe's helping arm. "Hi," he said, as Horus hovered disapprovingly over him. "I'm Pelathon."

Artemis summed up Pelathon's condition with a single glance, and murmured to Persephone, "Perhaps the nectar and ambrosia was a bit too strong tonight…"

"Perhaps," Persephone said, a light blush in her cheeks. "Half-sister, what is it that you wanted?"

"To bestow a gift," Artemis said. "A—rebirthing gift, I suppose. Celebrating their birth into my brother's realm…" Gracefully, the goddess reached up, appearing to touch the moon with gentle fingers. Away in her hands came a bow, shining silver, curved gracefully like the crescent moon. Bowing, she presented it to Lethe. "The gift of the moon. May your aim always be true."

Lethe looked down at the bow, then up at Artemis, smiling uncertainly. "Thank you," she said at last, her fingers closing about the bow. "I will treasure it always."

Artemis nodded, turning to Pelathon. Her face, gilded by the moon, showed the distant serenity of a goddess before mortals, her features gentle and severe all at once. "And for you, Pelathon, my brother Apollo would give to you the sun," she said. "This, I think, is apt—for we are opposites of each other, as are you and your sister." A bright light flared in her palms, as luminous and frightening as the sun, before condensing into a fluid, elegant bow.

Pelathon appeared to sober up slightly at the sight of this gift—he gave a jerky bow (at least he didn't fall over) and said, "Thank—'ankyou. Artemis. Thank you."

Artemis nodded, and her features softened somewhat—no longer so divine, no longer so—so _frightening_. Turning, she vanished into the trees.

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"I want to be just like her someday," Lethe said wistfully. She stared down at the bow in her hands, caressing it with gentle fingers. Muninn hopped from her shoulder to the bow, pecking at it with curiosity.

Pelathon and Persephone were still staring at the gap where Artemis had left; Pelathon seemed stunned, while Persephone was more worried. "Wow," Pelathon said after a moment, still looking a bit hazy. "Apollo's bow?"

"I _know_," Lethe said, excitement in her voice. "I can't wait to fletch some arrows and try them out." She grinned conspiratorially at her brother. "It would be _amazing._"

Pelathon started to reply, but the motion of Persephone's hand cut him off. "Children," Persephone said softly, "you must be careful."

The twins' eyes riveted onto Persephone, confused. Persephone continued to stare at the place where Artemis had left, her eyes worried. "Why?" Lethe said at last, her voice just as soft. "She gave us gifts."

"_Exactly_," Persephone said, her voice firm. She sighed, glancing at the perplexed faces of her children. "Hidden in your father's realm, you have not learned our ways—the manners of the eternal, the games that we play. We do not give _gifts_, Lethe. Not without expecting something in return."

"But—" Pelathon said.

"_Listen_ to me, Pelathon. I don't know what you two will eventually guard over—what aspect of mortal life you will rule, what control and command you will wield. But Artemis and Apollo—they will expect something from you in return. Especially Apollo; of the twins, he is the one who always wants more for his goodwill."

There was silence, and then Lethe said softly, "It's just a pair of bows, Mother."

"Divine gifts are always more than they seem," Persephone said darkly. The spring goddess looked around uncertainly, inhaling the aboveground air slowly. "And often, you will not know what you've accepted until it's too late."

"Should we—" Pelathon paused, then said unwillingly, "…discard them, then?"

Persephone gave a short, cynical laugh. "If there's something that they hate more than an unreciprocated gift, it's a rejection. No, keep them. Just be careful of your dealings—the deities may be family, children, but—"

She paused, then said slowly, "The mortals are afraid of your father's realm, for to them it represents darkness. But darkness is not necessarily the worse when compared to the light of Olympus, for that light is infinitely more dangerous to the unskilled."

"And we're unskilled?" Lethe said slowly.

Persephone smiled tiredly. "I trust you will learn soon," she said. "But, enough. Night dies, and dawn draws near. We have a new day ahead of us, and better topics to turn our mind to…"

The birds shuffled slightly, seeing what their masters could not in the darkness. Unwisely, the deities ignored them, turning their faces instead to the rising sun.

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**It's been a long time since I've updated this. o.O Or any other story for that matter, haha. XD At any rate, please read and review! –huggles-**

**Muninn, Memory, is from Norse mythology, one of Odin's ravens (the other one is Huginn, Thought). Horus, I think everybody knows, is from Egyptian mythology, as the god of sky and light and goodness. He's depicted as a man with a falcon head. So yep. **

**Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! –dances- I'll try to update soon (definition of 'soon' subject to change. XD), but anyway, hopefully once every two weeks? That is, if you review! –runs in circles-**


	5. Death's Deliverance

Bows steady at their sides, the twins set out to explore the aboveground. Muninn and Horus alike seemed to be equally excited, often flitting away from their owners' shoulders to perch onto trees, swoop low to the ground, and engage in perilous dances through the greenery. For the most part, Lethe and Pelathon ignored them, too busy staring at the foreign territory before them.

Such—_life_. Elysium was as beautiful as the world above, but nowhere near as lively. Animals of every sort watched the new deities as curiously as the twins regarded them, and the trees seemed to be aglow as the sun struck them. Apollo's chariot moved across the sky; laughingly, Pelathon aimed an arrow at it. "What happens when the sun strikes the sun?" he said.

"Apollo gets angry and bashes your face in," Lethe replied seriously.

"So prosaic, sister dear," Pelathon said, rolling his eyes, but he lowered his bow. "So give me another target. I wonder how meat tastes?"

Lethe winced. "Must you slaughter an animal just to satisfy your curiosity?" she murmured, fingering her own bow, strung and ready in her hand. "Ambrosia and nectar serve us just fine."

Pelathon scowled. "Again, prosaic. Plenty of deities hunt. Artemis, Apollo—"

"Well, that's them." At the mention of Artemis, Lethe looked down at the bow in her hand and shrugged.

"I'm as good a god as they are," Pelathon said, sounding sulky.

Lethe looked at him, startled. "I never said you weren't, brother."

"Then why don't you want me to hunt?" Pelathon said, anger tinging his voice. "Do you consider me to be inferior to the likes of Artemis and Apollo? That I am not wise enough, not authoritative—"

Lethe gaped at him. "What are you talking about, Pelathon?" she demanded.

"You wish to forbid me from hunting," Pelathon said stubbornly.

"I wish—I wish that you'd stop being such a stubborn idiot and seeing my every word as an insult!" Lethe said hotly. "My taboo against hunting is advice, nothing more, but if you want to see it that way, then that's your own problem!" she snapped. "Gods forbid I should _advise_ the mighty Pelathon to do _anything—_"

"Sister, you overstep," Pelathon said ominously.

Lethe inhaled sharply, her eyes narrowing. When she spoke again, her voice was flat. "Remember that I am as immortal as you. Brother."

"How often I do," Pelathon said, his voice just as flat and emotionless.

Lethe stared at him, then shook her head. She turned her back onto him and stalked away into the woods, disbelief raging in her heart. He had taken offense so easily—in a way, he was like a whole new god on the surface.

_Well, Father was there_, said a small voice in her head.

True. Hades had been there to watch over them. He'd kept the peace—closely related as the deities of Olympus were, blood did nothing to prevent them from backstabbing and maiming each other. But Hades had managed to keep the four of them stable—and _under control…_

Lethe blinked, shaking her head. Where had that thought come from?

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Pelathon watched as Lethe stalked away from him, muttering mutinously under his breath. He was as good as Artemis, Apollo, or even the great Father Zeus. He was certainly better than Father, Hades—stuck in his moldering old underground all day. And better than Mother, Persephone—_he_ wouldn't have eaten the stupid pomegranate. He'd have found a way to break the oath, even if he did...

He kicked a rock sulkily and glared at the trees around him. On his shoulder, Horus uttered a harsh screech—to the young god's ears, it sounded almost like a taunt. He inhaled deeply, the breath a resolve—he was as good as any god, even if he didn't rule over any aspect of mortality yet. And he'd prove it.

He picked up the arrow that he had jokingly aimed at Apollo's chariot earlier and set it to his bow. Carefully, his footsteps light and nimble, he set out into the woods, searching for prey—prey as befit a hunter, a god.

There.

Just a few steps away, a king stag stood, his back facing Pelathon. In early spring, the stag had no antlers, but was intimidating regardless. Pelathon inhaled softly, raising his bow and aiming clumsily—he'd had little practice in the Underworld.

But the stag's head whipped around, and he leaped away, jumping away into the greenery. Pelathon swore as he fired anyway and missed, the arrow plunging into a tree. He cursed under his breath, then leapt back with a shout as the arrow's brilliance began to grow painfully bright—there was a soft crackle, and the tree burst into flames.

Pelathon took a step back, wide-eyed as he stared at the burning tree. He glanced wildly at the bow in his hand—the sun? Was that the fire of the sun, made into a weapon? Persephone's words echoed in his mind—_You may not know what you have accepted until it is too late…_

Well, he liked it. He liked this gift. Pelathon grinned almost daringly as he stepped closer to the fire, daring it to burn him. The birthmark on his arm seemed to glow as it approached the flames; experimentally, Pelathon swiped a hand through the fire. It didn't hurt—it was a pleasant, almost ticklish sensation. On his shoulder, Horus squawked and took flight, but Pelathon paid him no mind as he examined the flames.

He laughed. Fire wouldn't dare to burn a god, _ever_—how foolish of him to be afraid. He gathered his arms about the flames as if he could carry them away—they swarmed over him, licking his skin with a gentle touch, embracing him as the heart of the fire.

A low moan filled the clearing; startled, Pelathon looked up, shaken out of his preoccupation. The sound seemed to be coming from the tree—a flickering, dying face of a young woman showed through the flames, her branches stirring in agony. _You have killed me_, a faint whisper said. _You have destroyed a dryad…_

Pelathon regarded her with a vague disinterest as the tree writhed in anguish, the life burning into smoke. "I am not afraid of you," he said proudly, embracing the flames like a lover. "And not of the flames, though you burn from them."

_The gods will avenge me_, the dryad whispered. _You, foolish mortal—_

"I am no mortal!" Pelathon shrieked, his wounded pride from Lethe's comments flaring into painful life. "I am a god. And I hold your life, and your death, in my palm." He raised a clenched fist; fire danced around it. "And you—dryad—you _dare_ to call me a mortal!"

There was a dying cry from the dryad, reverbrating through Pelathon's mind. The young god watched pitilessly, mercilessly as the fire swarmed over the face, consuming it in a streak of red.

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A few minutes in the cool spring morning and Lethe had forgotten her irritation and unsettling thoughts, instead turning her mind to enjoying the spring breeze. Muninn ran her beak through Lethe's hair; it was soothing, if a little ticklish.

"What do you think is it with Pelathon?" Lethe asked the raven musingly. "All of a sudden, he's so irritable. And I can't say I'm all that well-tempered, either." She was quiet for a moment. "Do you think Father controlled us, Muninn?"

The raven cawed harshly, flapping her wings. Lethe winced away from the beat of wings near her ear as the raven took flight, disappearing into the woodlands. Sighing, Lethe continued to muse out loud even though her audience had left, running her fingers over the bow. "Do you think, Muninn, that we should go back? We've no restriction to stay here, surely. And you must admit it was much more peaceful in the Underworld—the souls there are much less ornery. A little sunlight, well, Elysium's a fair match. Though I _will_ miss all this life. It's so beautiful out here, so…dynamic. I'd never thought I'd say that word, but there you go. Dynamic. And—"

"_Help me…_"

"—well, Pelathon and I never fought like that in the Underworld. We would've—what?" Lethe looked up, jerked abruptly out of her reverie. "Who—Muninn!"

The last word was a command, and the raven heeded it, swooping into sight and landing on Lethe's shoulder. Lethe stroked the raven's feathers as she listened carefully for that faint cry again—she had heard it, somewhere. Somewhere...

There was a soft rustle of leaves; carefully, Lethe padded towards the source, taking an arrow out of her quiver as she did so. Her nose twitched as she caught an acidic tang in the air—it smelled odd, like nothing she'd ever encountered before. "Be ready, Muninn," she whispered softly, and the raven rustled her wings in acknowledgement.

Lethe peered out from behind a branch of ivy, careful and cautious. There was a soft squelch from under her feet; she looked down to see red pooling around her foot, soaking into the hem of her dress. She crouched down, staring at it thoughtfully.

Blood.

There was another low moan—looking more carefully, she identified the source. It was a man, lying on his side in the dirt, his expression one of agony as he clutched at a wound between his ribs. Lethe stared at him from her hiding place in avid interest, taking in every detail—the dark brown hair, the callused palms, his hazel eyes, half-closed in pain as he bled.

A mortal. Her very first mortal.

Muninn gave a caw, and Lethe jerked back in astonishment as the raven took flight, hovering delicately over the mortal's trembling form. The raven settled on a perch near the mortal's head, preening the sweat-soaked hair. The man's eyes opened, and he lifted one trembling hand to touch the bird's feathers, staining them with his blood.

Lethe sighed as Muninn fixed a beady eye on her. Slinging her bow onto her shoulder, she stepped out into the clearing so that the man could see her—or her feet, anyway, from his position on the ground. His eyes widened as she came into view; he shifted his head slightly, looking at her through glazed eyes. Goddess and mortal regarded each other for a long, unsettled moment.

"You are dying," Lethe said, her voice matter-of-fact.

The man's eyes closed, his mouth gasping harshly for breath. "I know," he whispered softly. "Have you come to taunt me—goddess?"

"How do you know I'm a goddess?" Lethe asked, interested. She knelt down by the mortal's side, still marveling at the fragilities of the mortal body—the scars that lined his naked torso, the jagged slash across his ribs. "You are the very first mortal I've ever met, see," Lethe added when the mortal didn't answer. She paused, then said, "Well, the first live one. The others were all dead."

The man gave a pained, short laugh. "For those who have eyes to see," he murmured faintly, and then cried out sharply as Lethe touched gentle fingers to the wound, probing and searching. Lethe winced and then pulled away, wiping her hands on her dress, disregarding the bloodstains.

"You know, it's not so bad to die," Lethe said after a moment. "You will enter my Father's realm. Some call him harsh, but I think that is unfair—he is only strict. Dying is not too bad, mortal. I will plead your case, if you like. I will see that Father sends you to Elysium."

Muninn cawed softly, pecking at the hem of Lethe's dress. She put out a hand for the bird to perch on and lifted her to eye level, examining the blood on Muninn's wing. "I have never seen mortal blood before," Lethe added. "I had not known it was so bright."

"I don't wish to die, goddess," the man said, his voice faint and barely audible. "I'm not—not ready—"

He choked, then coughed, spitting blood. Lethe regarded him with interest, cocking her head to one side as he fought to breathe. When the fit was over, Lethe asked politely, "What do you have waiting for you, mortal? A lover? A wife? A—" she smiled faintly, then said, "A kingdom? Are you a noble prince, perhaps? Or a pauper?"

The man's eyes half-opened, looking up at her. "I—please, goddess, I'm not ready—please—"

Lethe paused, watching as he groaned, his hand tightening on the gristly wound. She hesitated, considering. "You haven't answered the question," she said to the mortal, but he seemed to be unable to answer, his eyes closed tightly in agony.

On an impulse, Lethe lay her hands against his ribs. It was surprisingly easy to heal him—she simply had to wish it, and the flesh mended before her eyes. His breathing grew steadier, and his eyelids fluttered as the wound faded, leaving only a faint scar. The blood still pooled around him, but he was no longer bleeding.

"For you, my first mortal," she said out loud.

When his eyelids fluttered open, Lethe closed them gently shut again with a finger, keeping them shut as she thought it over. It would be nice to have a companion, even a mortal one, now that she and Pelathon were quarrelling. But she wanted to keep him. It would do her no good if he fled.

Lethe pondered this problem for a moment, idling running her fingertips over the mortal's face as she thought. How would she bind him to her, make him hers? After all, he would only want to rejoin the mortal world, and that would be irritating…

Coming to a decision, she tapped his temples lightly, working out what she wanted to say. "I want you to forget," she whispered softly into his ear. "Forget about mortality, your past life, your past lovers and friends. You will stay with me, entertain me in this strange aboveground. Do you understand?" Her lips brushed his temple in a fleeting kiss, gentle yet final. "Say yes if you do."

His eyes tightly shut, the mortal nodded. "Yes," he said in a faint, breathy voice.

"Good." Lethe sat back, pleased. Then it occurred to her that she should've asked his name before she wiped his memory. Or to test if it worked… "What's your name, mortal? Wake up, now."

Hazel eyes opened slowly, and the mortal stared at her, his expression lost and confused. Muninn flew off Lethe's shoulder as she helped the mortal sit up—her memory wipe seemed to have done the trick; he genuinely didn't seem to recognize her. "I—"

Lethe pursed her lips, watching her work critically. It was the first time she'd done anything like this—maybe she'd overdone it. Maybe she'd wiped _everything_, including basic skills like walking and talking? That would be a disaster; he would be no good after that—

"Who are you?" he asked suddenly, and her fears evaporated.

She smiled at him, delighted. "Lethe. What is your name?"

He hesitated, bewilderment crossing his face. "I can't—I don't remember," he said finally. He seemed to take in his surroundings for the first time—the blood surrounding him, the sight of the young goddess before him. "Who are you? What's going on? What happened—what's all this blood?"

"Hush," Lethe soothed, putting a hand on his arm. "You're fine now. I'll take care of you." She hesitated, then added in a burst of inspiration, "Your name. You are known as Attis."

The mortal—Attis, she corrected herself—turned towards her, regarding her carefully. Lethe returned his gaze, inwardly thrilling with delight—she had chosen correctly, it seemed. Once over the initial shock, his eyes were clear and intelligent, and his body was one of someone who spent time in the fields, or at some athletic pursuit. A worthy companion.

"Have we met before?" he asked suddenly, sitting up slowly.

Lethe smiled at him, pleased. "Not until recently." Muninn fluttered in from above, landing on Attis's head. "She likes you," Lethe added, pointing to the raven.

"I am flattered," Attis said, a small, confused smile breaking out onto his face. "May I ask where I am, though? And—what happened? Why am I lying in blood?"

Lethe's smile widened, and her grip tightened on his arm. "You may not. At any rate, it does not matter. I saved you—you belong to me, now. Come." She pulled the confused mortal to his feet, patting the worst of the blood-caked mud off. "Let me lead you to shelter, where you may talk to me."

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**So. Hem. Which twin is crueler, do you think? Pelathon with his psychotic pyromania or Lethe with her amnesiac tendencies? The point I wanted to make with this chapter is that deities are, historically, not kind. They may enjoy mortal company, they may like a few mortals and decided to gift them, they may lust after mortal passion. But they don't love. They don't actually care that much about mortals (or dryads either I guess), except as means of entertainment or tools for change. After all, we humans die so easily, and like Lethe said, death is not so bad—to the gods, it's nothing permanent.**

**For a rather good example of an uncaring deity, check out **_**Trickster's Queen**_** by Tamora Pierce—the god, Kyprioth, is my sort-of model for Lethe and Pelathon. And of course, the Greek myths themselves are models, too. **

**Oh, and Attis is the name of a Phrygian god whose death and resurrection symbolized the end of winter and the arrival of spring. The goddess Cybele loved him; when he rejected her, she had him castrated, which killed him. So yeah. XD Historically, gods do not respond well to rejection. Dunno if that's what'll happen to Lethe. Did I mention I have no plot? –shiftyeyes-**

**Okay, that's that. I got bitten by the writing bug and just had to churn out this chapter…whaddaya think? Review, please!**


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